


you turn oranges into orange juice

by venusrosy



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Bulimia, Eating Disorders, Heather Chandler Being an Asshole, Other, Self-Hatred, Toxic Friendships, Triggers, but she is heather chandler what do you expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25888117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venusrosy/pseuds/venusrosy
Summary: How Heather Chandler completely ruined Heather Duke's self-worth
Relationships: Heather Duke & Heather Chandler
Kudos: 14





	you turn oranges into orange juice

**Author's Note:**

> !!TRIGGER WARNING!! : Somewhat graphic depiction of bulimia
> 
> Title is taken from the song "Orange Juice" by Melanie Martinez

Heather Duke's bulimia didn't happen overnight.

She had never been very secure or sure of herself, always comparing herself to the other girls in her class. Even in the group of Heathers, Heather Duke never felt like the prettiest girl in school. That title always went to Heather Chandler, who was also the main reason Heather Duke had the thoughts she did.

It started in eighth grade, the three girls congregated in Chandler's bedroom, watching some cheesy John Hughes movie that had come out recently on VHS. There were snacks all over, and Heather Duke and very much enjoying her M&M's when Chandler spoke up.

"Careful, Heather," she taunted. "If you keep that up you'll start looking like the cows they take the milk from for those candies."

"O-oh. I guess you're right," she'd replied, setting the bag down next to her and scooting it away. Duke had looked at Heather McNamara for support, but she kept her mouth shut and placed her manicured hands in her yellow nightgowned lap.

The rest of the night, Heather didn't touch a single piece of food. Not the pizza Chandler's mom bought for them, or the bag of jellybeans Mac had brought. Every time she even considered it, her brain flashed back to Chandler's comment and she stopped herself.

Then, it kept happening. Every time Duke ate a lot of something, Chandler would stop her and give her a snide comment, often comparing her to Martha Dumptruck. Every time, Duke would nod weakly, and Mac would say nothing at all. It was a cycle, and it would keep on spinning and spinning until someone was finally brave enough to break it.

Heather's insecurities manifested into her attitude. She'd join in the bullying of Martha solely to make herself feel better. She was friends with her as a kid, but all ties were cut after Heather Chandler forced her to join her group. If Heather could go back in time, she'd say no to Chandler and continue with Martha.

The throwing up didn't come until junior year, when Chandler had pulled her aside after seeing Heather Duke finally give in and eat a slice of pizza at a party Ram Sweeney and Kurt Kelly were throwing.

"Here, Heather. Let me teach you something," Heathrr Chandler said, leading her to the bathroom.

Heather Duke nodded like the sheep she was and followed her, bumping into various partygoers who ogled her like a piece of meat. It was revolting, but at least they thought she was hot.

"What do you want to teach me?" Heather asked, but already had the sneaking suspicion of what it was. She wasn't stupid, she'd read all the health pamphlets her therapist gave her before Heather's father threw a fit over his daughter being "crazy" and withdrew her from therapy.

"A way that you can keep eating what you want. You just stick two fingers and voilà. You look perfect," Chandler said, holding up her pointer and middle finger. "My cousin does this. She told me to try it, but since I'm already beautiful I don't need to. You, Heather Duke, however are not. Go ahead. Try it."

Heather stood and held up her pointer and middle finger. Her nails were chewed to a nub, so at least it wouldn't hurt her throat. But, did she really want to do this? Heather looked at Chandler's red-lipped, smug smile, and at her own green-dressed reflection in the mirror. Yes, she did really want to do this.

"O-Okay," Heather shakily said, kneeling in front of the porcelain toilet.

She jammed her fingers down her throat, immediately gagging and feeling her throat burn and the urge to cough. Heather pushed them down further, feeling the bile rise up her throat, throwing it up into the toilet. Heather wiped her mouth, and flushed the toilet.

"Are you happy now?" Heather told Chandler bitterly, storming from the bathroom.

She called her mom to pick her up, not even caring about the consequences. Anything her mother did would most likely keep her from hanging out with Heather Chandler outside of school for at least a few weeks, which would do wonders for her self-esteem. 

"Is everything okay?" Heather's mother asked her.

"Yep. It's very."

"Are you sure?"

"Just wish I hadn't gone. My throat hurts."

"Did you drink anything?"

"No. I just wasn't feeling well today."

Heather looked outside the window into the dark night, tears forming in her blue-green eyes. She'd purged. She threw up her food, all because a red bitch told her too. Did she ever really think for herself anymore? 

Monday came, and Heather puked in the bathroom again. And again. It stopped for awhile, when people began to become suspicious, and when the damage was done during senior year, Heather began again.

It also coincided with the joining of a new member. A wise-cracking, dark-haired girl in blue named Veronica Sawyer who stood up for her against the bullying taunts against of Chandler, telling her to leave her alone and genuinely caring about her bulimia, telling her she needed help. Heather brushed Veronica off with a "yeah, maybe" and that was that.

When Heather got the news of Chandler's suicide, her first reaction was shock and horror. Sure, Chandler was a bitch, but she didn't deserve to kill herself. No one did. But the deep, dark part of Heather's brain grinned in happiness. No more did she have to bend to her every beck and call, or feel Chandler's shameful eyes on burning hot into her back as she threw up in the toilet.

"Fuck it," Heather said when asked about her "urge to purge". She threw it away behind her. She didn't have to. There was no mythic bitch to impress anymore.

The night after Chandler's funeral, Heather went to bed without having thrown up anything, happily sleeping and wearing her red trimmed pajamas.


End file.
